


Keep Your Enemy Closer

by Knightess_of_Ren



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Female Knight of Ren, I wrote this before the Last Jedi came out so, Kinks, My complaint against the lack of Knights of Ren, POV Poe Dameron, Poe Dameron Needs A Hug, Poe is captured again, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Why do I always write prisoner Poe?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 16:25:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14622546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightess_of_Ren/pseuds/Knightess_of_Ren
Summary: After becoming a prisoner of war to the First Order, again, Poe Dameron finds himself acting as bait to lure Leia Organa into the murderous hands of her son, (or, at least, what's left of him). Isolated and helpless, he meets Kylo Ren's right-hand, a female Knight of Ren that holds the lure of the force in her eyes and awakens a need in him that brings him closer to his enemies than he ever thought possible.





	Keep Your Enemy Closer

**Author's Note:**

> Another short Poe Dameron fic that I promised long ago! As mentioned in the tags, I wrote this pre-The Last Jedi, so there is a decent amount of canon divergence. Please enjoy and as always, May the Force be With You.

Poe Dameron was a man of many talents. Of the many, he was a superb pilot and a good friend. He prided himself on his work ethic, grasping gratefully at every sly compliment and piece of recognition he received from his General. Sometimes he didn’t think too far ahead, sure, but for the most part that trait served him well. However, that was only most of the time, because for all those qualities, Poe was damn good at getting himself captured. This was, what, the third time in his Resistance career? Maybe the fourth? Not every instance was at the hands of the First Order, but the collection of Empire wannabes had trapped him at least twice. He already knew, stuck as he was in a tiny room without a single sharp edge, cuffed to the circular wall by his ankles: General Organa was not going to let him live this one down.

That being said, another of Poe’s talents was his ability to see the silver lining in all things, and so perhaps it was to the Resistance's benefit that he be the one captured and interrogated. Few could withstand torture and lock away precious information as he could. Kylo Ren’s success had not been the fault of Poe’s training; Ren's force abilities gave him a very unfair advantage. But even with his abusive usage of the force, he had only acquired a small bit of information, jumping the gun as he so often did. Poe didn't doubt that the same thing would happen this time, nor was it surprising; the First Order wasn't considered across the galaxy as largely intelligent. They had more manpower, yes; firepower, yes; intelligence? not exactly.

However, his expectation of Kylo Ren was immediately proved otherwise by the figure that entered through the curved door. They were similar, but surely not the same. Shorter, for one, and with far less bulk in both shape and armor. Poe could see immediately that he was looking at a woman. She had a cape as Ren did, and a full mask of chromium plates around where her eyebrows—assuming she was human—might be, curving down and toward the lips to give the illusion of cut cheekbones. The snout was pulled down into a widow’s peak, more chrome traveling in a straight line up the nose and finally meeting the inner edges of the eyebrows. It was feminine in an eerie, intimidating way, and the similarities were enough to assure Poe that this was one of the fabled Knights of Ren.

Though he had never seen one in person, the stories of the Knights of Ren were shrouded and listless as fog. Mystery was a quintessential aspect of their group, and so Poe was startled when she reached up to unlatch the helmet, the hydraulics within hissing their release and allowing her enough space to shift it above her head. He knew it was in his best interest not to, but all Poe could do was stare, awed and taken aback by both the act of revelation and the face beneath the mask. She was human, and frankly beautiful. _Kylo Ren_ oversaw this woman? What a lucky bastard.

“Poe Dameron,” the Knight greeted him, holding the helmet against the side of her hip. “My name is (Y/N). I will oversee you while you are here.”

Her voice was soft, but not taunting as Ren’s was. It was almost like speaking to a friend; easy and natural. Poe was her enemy, and her his, yet there was no acknowledgment of that in her voice or expression. Her eyes had a hardness to them, yes, and muscles that were obviously well used pulsed around her jaw, but otherwise she was calm and at ease.

“Right,” Poe said, tilting his gaze around the room. “I assume you will be interrogating me as well?”

“No,” she said. “Not that I couldn’t, but you’re here for leverage, not information.”

Well that was new.

“And what does the First Order gain from me being here?”

She took a step forward, light and slow, as if to avoid scaring him off. But there was nowhere he could go. Everything she had done so far went against what Poe would imagine the Knight of Ren to be like. But that didn’t mean he would let his guard down. Most likely, she was playing nice, attempting to somehow dissuade his defenses with a soft, feminine charm. He wouldn’t fall for it. Poe knew how to charm his own way out of situations; two could play at this game.

“Do you know what I am?” she asked.

“I know you’re beautiful.”

She released the barest breath of a laugh, tilting her gaze to the side almost coyly. “I see. I’m not assuaged by flattery, Poe.” She waited, silently challenging him to flirt once again. “While I may be indirectly affiliated with the First Order, the only true master I serve is Kylo Ren. What I do is for his benefit; that’s all.”

“Alright then, I’ll revise my initial inquiry: what does Kylo Ren gain by me being imprisoned? Again?”

“You are close to his mother.”

Poe stiffened. He had learned after the destruction of Starkiller base that the Master Knight was Ben Solo, underneath the guise of Kylo Ren. General Organa had told him in part because of her grief, but also because she trusted him, a badge Poe held with honor. Ren must trust this Knight equally well, if she knew such a buried truth.

“You have become a sort of… surrogate son to the General,” the Knight continued, crossing her clothed arms. “Kylo has sensed this, learned it, and decided that your capture would be useful. You are the most skilled pilot in the Resistance, a loyal rebel, a child conditioned when another was lost. They need you; they won’t let you go without a fight.”

“And is that what Ren hopes to do?” Poe said. “Draw out the Resistance, draw out the General so that he can kill her just as he did his own father?”

A small wrinkle appeared between the Lady Knight's eyebrows. “I don’t entirely know his intentions. It is not relevant for me to know.”

“Well aren’t you a kriffing saint.”

“Never said I was,” she said, with a quick, playful wink. “Now, I came to introduce myself and to ask you what you want for breakfast.”

“For… breakfast?”

“Yes,” she tilted her head ever so softly, her lips quirking along as well. “Do you eat that sort of thing in the Resistance?”

“Of course we eat breakfast.” Poe said. “What kind of question is that?”

“The important kind,” the Lady Knight said with a shrug, “it is, after all, the most important meal of the day.”

Poe had been trained to withstand and _expect_ all forms of torture and persuasion at an enemy's hands; this, however, was not listed under any tactics the Resistance was aware of. She _had_ to be attempting to pull his guard down. It was the only reasonable explanation for a Knight of Ren to be asking about breakfast.

“I’m not interested,” Poe said.

“You won’t eat?”

“No,” he insisted, keeping his expression as relaxed as possible. “Being chained to the wall doesn’t really work up an appetite. Besides, I’d be a fool to put anything you offered into my mouth.”

She regarded him for a while in absolute silence, picking at him with her edged gaze in a way that made Poe want to fidget. He didn't, of course; that would waste away any pride he had left in this situation. Then, finally, she shrugged, cape glancing around her bodysuit.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be by around lunchtime. There will be a trooper manning your door at all times. If you need anything, just ask for me.”

That was that. With a steady gait she left, the door hissing shut and a lock clicking in place in her wake.

* * *

 

She did as she said she would; (Y/N) walked back into the room a few hours later, informing Poe of the time and asking whether he would be interested in food or water. The Resistance pilot refused again, and once dinnertime rolled around, the process was repeated. (Y/N) didn’t return for many hours after that, and against his desires, Poe allowed himself to sleep, back supported against the wall with his head lolling loosely to the side. He woke up several times during his sleep, either with a neck ache or a nightmare, but got in what he assumed to be at least a couple of hours of rest. The noise outside his door didn’t settle no matter what time it was, the ship always running, ever manned. He hadn’t seen much of the craft on his way into his small, round cell, but he could tell it wasn’t anything akin to the Finalizer. He was likely aboard a medium-sized transport vessel, with a small crew of First Order workers. He wondered whether this was the ship designated to the Knights of Ren, or even whether the rest of (Y/N’s) fellows were. And what of Ren, their leader? Had he accomplished what he wanted to yet?

Could it possibly be that the General was dead?

This was already becoming frustrating. Poe needed something to do, preferably something with his hands, anything to get him out of his head. Waiting wasn’t his specialty; patience, obviously not his virtue. He would go stir-crazy if they kept this charade up. Torture was better than this.

Finally, the door opened once again, when Poe had resorted to drumming a beat with his fingers against the steel floor. (Y/N) walked in, removed her helmet as she had the last three times they communed, and propped it against her hip.

“Bored?” she asked, motioning her head toward his hands.

“I’m not used to sitting around.”

“Me neither. Hungry, yet? We're back to breakfast, as you probably already figured out.”

“Are you ever going to stop asking?”

“Are you ever going to stop saying no?”

Poe grinned up at her. “No.”

“Hm,” she quirked a finely coiffed eyebrow. “I knew you’d be stubborn. However, there is more to surviving than relying on stubbornness. Food is essential, water even more so.” She took him in then, surveying from top to bottom, the way a tailor would survey a body with which to fit clothes. “I would hate for all those fine muscles to go to waste. You need protein.”

Poe didn’t respond. He felt as if her stare alone had opened him up, submissive and bare before her. He figured that the Knights must all have some level of force sensitivity; he was almost positive that whatever power (Y/N) held, she focused it into her gaze. That stubborn part of him wanted to snap at her to stop looking at him, but there was another part, one far more rooted in a way that was almost primal, that wanted her to stare _more_ , to open him up _more_ , until her eyes burned right down into his skin.

“I will even take a sip out of your cup and a bite from your plate,” she said, with a soft, sidelong smile. “Just to prove it isn’t poisoned.”

He kept her waiting longer than necessary before Poe finally relented; “Fine. An egg, and some water.”

“It’s a start. I’ll let the chef know.”


End file.
